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Catharine Ryder at the 
Loudon Spring 



p0^mB anil ii^motrB 

of 

Olatljann^ ^vihn ana ilob l^lbtson 




ARRANGED AND COMPILED 
by MRS. ANNA R. ELLETSON 
inclading SOME PERSONAL 
REMINISCENCES. ^ ji jt ^ 

Printed hy THE JACOBS PRESS 
AUBURN - - NEW YORK 

Copurighl 1915 bu Anna R. Elktion 



)C1,A406638 



JUL--9l9iD 



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^Y AN URGENT request of relatives and friends 
of the deceased Catharine Ryder, to have the 
poems she wrote in her latter life collected and pub- 
lished in book form, to be kept as a memento of her, 
and handed down in the far future by her relatives 
and many intimate friends of her acquaintance. There 
will also be some selections of other authors, found 
among her effects. Her own earlier writings she kept 
hidden away in her parents' garret, in an old bandbox. 
One piece she allowed to be seen and criticized. When 
the remark was made that it should be published, it was 
too good to be hid away in an old box in a garret, she 
was encouraged and lost some of her modesty and fear 
of critics, and wrote a number of pieces, published 
now for the first time in book form with a number of 
selections from different authors that she had selected. 
These will have eac^ author's name attached, where 
known. 

It is hoped there will be no mistake made in the 
authorship of any of her poems, as many of them had 
no name signed. At first she used the "nom de plume" 
U. S. D. Cartersink — "used Carter's ink." From the 
humbler walks of life, with little education, the fear 
of the critic was deeply impressed on her mind, "as 
also the author of this preface," by never forgetting 
what we read in an old album, that which we believe 
to be very true : 



Three 



"Beware" ! Ye poetysing sages, 

How you scribble o'er these pages, 

For curious eyes may often gaze 

On every line in future days; 

And criticize each verse in line 

When you have passed the bounds of time. 

It is the wish of the publisher that the spirit of 
good motives may be deeply impressed on the mind of 
the reader. As was the acrostic, an epitaph engraved 
on a tombstone, and read and re-read by the school 
children as they passed by on their way from school, 
leaving an ever memorable impression on the young 
mind to strive for that better life. It was written by 
Eliza Ryder and engraved on her brother's tombstone, 
seemingly such inspired thoughts, silently pointing us 
upward to God. 

And we hope that the spirit, thoughts and senti- 
ments of those writings will most engage the keenest 
critic, leaving style and correctness as very immaterial. 

Auburn, N. Y., 1915. A. R. E. 




Four 



POEMS OF CATHARINE RYDER 



-©-©-©- 

HE SAT upon her father's knee, 
His youngest darling child, 
He sang for her a melody 
In accents soft and mild. 

Her dark brown ringlets softly fell 

Upon his shelt'ring arm, 
Encircling her so tenderly. 

As if to shield from harm. 

What hopes sprang up within his heart. 

No one might fully guess. 
He only sang and fondly prayed 

That God his child would bless. 

The sweet soft words her father sang, 

Convincing deeply fell, 
Within her heart a fruitful seed, 

Where they will always dwell. 

Though fifty years or more have fled. 
Yet still she hears him sing. 

The couplet which so well we know. 
Wise counsels with it bring. 



Eight 




The Mountain-Shaded Village of 
Loudon, Pennsylvania 



POEMS OF CATHARINE RYDER 



These were the solemn holy words, 

Her father sweetly sung, 
"Let not a false nor spiteful word 

Be found upon your tongue." 

These words were more than formal song, 

They living fell within. 
Impressed their seal upon her soul 

To guard her lips from sin. 

So let the birds above his grave 

And winds sweet music sing. 
Till "she can share her father's song, 

To praise the Lord and King." , 

Ft. Loudon, July 23, 1900. 

— Catharine Ryder. 




Nine 



POEMS OF CATHARINE RYDER 



-©-®-®- 

XS IT flight from danger 
Brings you here to-day? 
Tell me, little stranger, 
Tell, O tell me pray. 

Have you fled for shelter 
From the hands of Don? 

Doubly welcome, enter, 
Hide thee, little one. 

Sparrows fled from bullets, 

Here is your retreat, 
We'll be friends together, 

Give you crumbs to eat. 

Chance of life is narrow, 

Cruel, bitter fate 
Kills the little sparrow. 

Though heaven guards its fate. 

Welcome bird from England, 

Favorite bird are you! 
"Held in hollow of God's hand," 

Read that scripture true. 



len 



POEMS OF CATHARINE RYDER 



And shame our doubting tempers, 

Into fullest trust, 
Who careth for the sparrow. 

Never deals unjust. 

Weakest faith to nourish. 

Gives us equal share. 
In the trust we cherish, 

"Thy Almighty care." 

Sings the chirping sparrow, 

"Not one of us shall fall," 
"Without the will of the Father," 

Whose love is over all. 

— Catha/rine Ryder. 




tiieven 



POEMS OF CATHARINE RYDER 



■®-®-©- 

nARK! the robin's night song, 
Greets my listening ear, 
Happy little warbler, 
Singing songs of cheer. 

Ever thus at night fall, 

Again at break of day. 
He wakes me from my slumber, 

And bids me rise and pray. 

He sings, and thus he teaches, 

A lesson to my heart. 
Reminding me of duty, 

To shun the sluggard's part. 

So, thankfully I listen 

To feathered friends in air. 

Calling out so lustily, 
To cast on God my care. 

So come again at night-fall, 
Yes, come, my robin dear; 

You merry- wise old singer ! 
I lend a willing ear 



Twelve 



POEMS OF CATHARINE RYDER 



To truths the song-birds utter, 

For why should I despise 
These daily song reminders 

Of conduct good and wise. 

Then laying down my burden 

I join the robin's song, 
In praising my Creator, 

To whom we all belong. 

— Catharine Ryder. 




Thirteen 



POEMS OF CATHARINE RYDER 



•paat-xaxU 

^^!^HE "whip-poor-will" is calling, 
^^ I turn to hear his tale, 
A thousand times told over, 
What does it all avail? 

Whip-poor-will ! Whip-poor-will ! 

Hear the night bird's call, 
Like a stationed sentinel 

Along yon mountain wall. 

Whip-poor-will ! Whip-poor-will ! 

Sure you are a mountaineer; 
Calling from yon lofty hill, 

Through the tree-tops standing near. 

Whip-poor-will ! Whip-poor-will ! 

Every night we hear the taunt, 
The funny challenge, boding ill 

To the crude and ignorant. 

But now the wheat is harvested. 

The crops are gathered in ; 
The whip-poor-wills are quieted. 

And hushed their noisy din. 



Fourteen 



POEMS OF CATHARINE RYDER 



Come, learned ornithologist! 

Explain why it is thus : 
That three months only in each year, 

The birds will sing for us. 

Good-bye ! Ye vesper singers ! 

While autumn moves along, 
We'll miss your nightly visits, 

Your whip-poor-wailing song. 




Fifteen 



POEMS OF CATHARINE RYDER 

-®-®-©- 

GOME and see what kind nature 
Has so lavishly done, 
In crowning with beauty 
These slopes to the sun. 

When soft dying sunsets 

Climb o'er the tall crest 
Of rock covered mountains 

That shut out the west. 

A village lies nestling 

Amid the fair shade 
Of timber-clad mountains, 

With upland and glade. 

Then, looking out eastward, 

What beauties are seen! 
In Kittatinnay mountains. 

And valleys of green! 



Sixteen 



POEMS OF CATHARINE RYDER 



A bit north to east compass, 
See, Mount Parnell arise. 

Whose peak when fog covered 
Seems touching the skies. 

Tuscarora lies westward, 
Awe strikingly strange, 

Stretching on to the southland. 
With range upon range. 

Then looking up northward 

See a pyramid rise! 
Jordan's Knob stands so massive, 

It awakens surprise. 

Thus, mountain environed. 
By Nature's true God, 

Here once in his freedom 
The Indian trod. 

On west Conococheague, 
Every winding he knew. 

As he sped o'er its waters 
In a light bark canoe. 



Seventeen 



POEMS OF CATHARINE RYDER 



With health and with plenty 

Our village is blest; 
Here may the world weary 

One, peacefully rest. 

Here pure sparkling water 

From mountain-side spring, 
Forever flows downward — 

"Fit draught for a king." 

Think ye, these pen pictures 

Too strongly are made? 
Then visit our village. 

And bask in its shade. 

— Catharine Ryder. 



Eighteen 



POEMS OF CATHARINE RYDER 



fountain ^msxtB 

-©-©-©- 

OEAR girls ! Don't take this 
Nickname so glum, 
For "lassie" from far away 

Scotland has come; 
Distinctly high sounding, 

Poetical, fine, 
It chimes rather sweetly with 
Mountain and pine. 

We know we lack culture of 

Classical school; 
We will fill up the gap with the 

Good Golden Rule; 
Then countryfied manners can 

Never seem rude 
When placed in compare with a 

Flickering dude. 

Never mind ; if they snub you, 

Take no offence; 
True worth is intrinsic and 

Blest with good sense ; 
"Moral worth" is the jewel we 

Covet to wear, 
For nothing in value with 

It can compare. 



Nineteen 



POEMS OF CATHARINE RYDER 



A Mrh in i^t IfanJJ tunrtly tma in i^i luatj 

■®-®-®- 

©HERE are two little songsters well known in the 
land, 
Their names are I-Have and 0-Had-I. 
I-Have will come tamely and perch on j^our hand, 
But 0-Had-I will mock you most sadly. 

I-Have, at first sight, is less fair to the eye. 
But his worth is by far more enduring 

Than a thousand O-Had-I's, that sit far and high, 
On roofs and on trees so alluring. 

Full many a golden egg this bird will lay. 
And sing out : "Be cheery ! Be cheery !" 

Oh, merrily then will the day glide away. 

And sweet shall your sleep be when weary. 

But let 0-Had-I but once take your eye, 

And a longing to catch him once seize you, 

He'll give you no comfort nor rest till you die, 
Life long he'll torment you and tease you. 

He'll keep you all day, running up and down hill, 

Now looking, now panting, and then slyly creeping 

While far overhead, this sweet bird, at his will 
With his bright golden plumage is sweeping. 

Then every wise man, that attends to this song, 
Will count his I-Have a choice treasure. 

And whenever an 0-Had-I comes flying along. 
Will just let him fly at his pleasure. 

— Catharine Ryder. 



Twenty 



POEMS OF CATHARINE RYDER 



-@-©-®- 

The title is rather inelegant, but not more so than Goethe's 
Cat-pie. Dish Rags is a true story, the facts being fully known 
to the Author, who has brought them out in lyric verse. 

SOU can tell a good housekeeper 
By the way her dish rags look, 
By her pans and pots and kettles, 
You can tell the kind of cook. 

For the man who seeks a wifey, 

I will let the "cat get out," 
In the droll amusing story 

Of a torn dish rag clout. 

Yes, the story is a winner, 

You may read it in the face 
Of a clerk who ate his dinner 
At his private boarding place. 

The Boss and family had eaten. 
So the clerk could tend the store ; 

Thus it was this day in question, 
So it had been heretofore. 

There was pot-pie on the table. 

But what else I do not know. 
For the story sounds like fable, 

Telling how some pot-pies grow. 



Twenty-one 



POEMS OF CATHARINE RYDER 



Well, he thought the meat is tougher 
Than the common kind of beef, 

And the fibre somewhat rougher 
Than a pocket handkerchief. 

So he chewed, and chewed, and chewed 

In his jaw-bound hopper, 
On the meat as he supposed. 

With each enameled chopper. 

But as there was no one looking, 
Happy thought to puzzled brain, 

He'd investigate the cooking, 
Thus the mystery explain. 

So for tongs he used his fingers. 

Drew the pesky morsel out, 
But the unsavory still lingers 

In that bit of ragged clout. 

Now for moral to my story. 
Heed it well ye housewives all ; 

If you use old ragged dishcloths. 
Sure some day you'll get a fall. 

Yes, I've seen old rags all tattered. 
And some stuffs I dare not name. 

Used in dirty slatterns' kitchens ; 
Yes, I speak it to their shame. 

Buy some crash or loose wove linen, 
Cut in squares and neatly hem, 

And for pity's sake, dear women, 
Read this story now and then. 

— Catharine Ryder. 



Twenty-two 



POEMS OF CATHARINE RYDER 



-®-©-©- 

OUR TOWN fathers one day, 
Chanced to meet for a chat; 
They talked about this 

And they talked about that — 
Then drifting away on a watery theme. 
They talked of a novel and sensible scheme. 

They said, "for good water 

London Spring is fame noted," 
"The best in the state !" 

We sometimes hear quoted. 
Shall we pipe it around to the homes of our people? 
We will ! As sure as there's a bell in yon steeple ! 

Then the women said : 

No longer in buckets 

This water we'll carry, 
To cook and to wash like 

Old slaves of Dunbarry! 
But we'll catch from a faucet the outflowing water, 
With perfect delight to both mother and daughter. 

They are now laying pipes. 

From our famous "Old Gutter," 
And sure enough, what was good. 

May become "utterly utter." 
But though we may murmur like the Jews in the story, 
We still may rejoice in its crystalline glory. 

— Catharine Ryder. 



Twenty-three 



POEMS OF CATHARINE RYDER 



ilettJiariJa 

-©-©-©- 

Y?=^EED this counsel, my brother! 
^1 J5 "Lie ye not to one another !" 

Lying lips disturb the peace, 

And our moral wrongs increase. 

Noblest hearts are often stung 

By the liar's poisonous tongue. 

Lies in action, lies in thought. 
Who can tell the mischief wrought? 
Tenderest ties are sometimes riven. 
Treacherous lying unforgiven. 
Heed this precept then, my brother, 
"Lie ye not to one another !" 

For this daily broken law, 

My poor brain no plea can draw, 

We may all be stricken mute 

When God's balances compute. 

In the light of heavenly Truth 

"We are found wanting," all forsooth. 

Truth is love, my erring brother, 
"Lie ye not to one another." 
Surely falls the wrath divine. 
And the curse is thine and mine. 
If we do not love each other, 
Or with lies supplant our brother. 

— Catharine Ryder. 



Twenty-four 




The Home of "Little Aunt Catharine" 
Ryder at Loudon, Pennsylvania 



POEMS OF CATHARINE RYDER 



^^:^HE ANGELS in heaven rejoice at the sight 
^^ Of sinners repenting and seeking the light; 
When turning away from the horrors of sin, 
Which fills a lost soul with its terrors within. 

The angels rejoice in their mansions above, 
Over poor ones in spirit, accepting God's love. 
A theme for the angels befitting us all, 
When we see a poor sinner raised up from his fall. 

And fleeing to Christ, there a refuge to find, 
Receiving new sight to the eyes that were blind ; 
The ears that were deaf now hear the glad news, 
"I will give you My peace and your burdens unloose." 

I'll be with you always to the end of the strife. 
Then receive you to glory and the regions of life. 
Where all the redeemed gather round the bright throne 
And forever and ever God's omnipotence own. 

— Catharine Ryder. 



Twenty-five 



POEMS OF CATHARINE RYDER 



-©-®-®- 

ifPEAK the truth at all times! 
No matter what is said, 
To provoke prevarication 
By those through envy led. 

Speak the truth at all times, 

True confidence inspire 
In hearts of love that cherish worth, 
And honesty admire. 

Speak the truth at all times ! 

A noble, worthy plan 
To build your reputation on — 

It is, my fellow man. 

— Catharine Ryder. 



Twenty-six 



POEMS OF CATHARINE RYDER 



-©-©-©• 

^^:;^HREE score years of life has passed 
\^ With to-day; 

Thus our days glide swiftly on, 
And pass away. 

First babyhood's sweet innocence, 
"An angel's gleam"; 

Then come childhood's happy hours, 
With joys supreme. 

The opening flowers, song of birds, 

A heaven here ; 
Such this fair world of ours, 

To the child appear. 

Back to those bright days my memory 

Turns to muse. 
And happier for their short duration, 

Seem what we lose. 

But, in life's maturer years, 

A foretaste gives 
Of what a home in heaven is like. 

Where Jesus lives. 



Twenty-seven 



POEMS OF CATHARINE RYDER 



So when with weight of sorrow bowed, 

And cares oppressed, 
Memory views through childhood's eyes 

A haven of rest. 

Standing to-day upon life's descending slope 

Of threescore years, 
With joy and hope I look above, 

E'en with grateful tears. 

That shorter grows the rugged journey. 

Sad and long. 
Which shall bring me to that haven 

With a victor's song. 

— Catharine Ryder. 




Twenty-eight 



POEMS OF CATHARINE RYDER 



5II|p ^i^txv^tt ^tttrm 



Written on the tragic death, by an electric storm, of a 
dear sister-in-law, Mrs. Sue Ryder. She had gone up to close 
the garret windows, when the chimney of the house was struck, 
killing her instantly. 



IN MEMORIAM. 

Q SHATTERED chimney showed the way 
The lightning's course had took, 
Where from the garret window, he 
Had seen his mother look. 

With throbbing heart and hastening feet, 

That garret's hold he sought, 
Where shattered beams — and lifeless form, 

Showed the sad havoc wrought. 

The last look of a mother's love 

Was fixed in lifeless stare ; 
No person on earth could bring it back, 

For God had placed it there. 



Twenty-nine 



POEMS OF CATHARINE RYDER 



With loving arms encircling her 

He bore the dead weight down, 
Faint hoping that some doctor's skill 

Returning life would crown. 

But ways of God are not our own, 

Our feeble sense sits dumb ; 
"He sets the bounds we cannot pass," 

He holds our days to come. 

So in this timely chastening rod, 

Infinite love we trace. 
And pray that we may "ready be" 

For God's own time and place. 

— Catharint Ryder. 



Thirty 



POEMS OF CATHARINE RYDER 



pi^aaant Maths 



Q 



•©-©-®- 

LEASANT words are as an honeycomb, 
Sweet to the soul, and health to the bones. 

Prov. 16:24. 



Long, long ago in the distant past. 
On the wings of time the words were cast; 
Thus holding to-day their power to lead 
All those who wisely the maxim heed. 

In the building up of broken health. 
Kindness may often compete with wealth ; 
And bring a shower of blessings down, 
Eichly the labors of love to crown. 

This simile old when taken home 
Will daily drip like the honeycomb, 
In the pleasant word and gentle deed 
That so sweetly touches the child of need. 

In the proverb old is clearly shown 
A thing that should be more widely known. 
That precept old and commandment new 
Are both in the pattern Jesus drew. 

— Catharine Ryder. 



Thirty-one 



\ 



POEMS OF CATHARINE RYDER 



aHjnat (§m All 



Translated from a German Hjonn, by Catharine Ryder. 

^y^HATEVER earthly ills we share, 
vl^ They soon will pass away, 
But those who cast on God their care 
Have found eternal day. 

Adieu! to worldly wealth and fame; 

Its empty pleasures too ; 
Give us the cross in Jesus' name. 

His will to know and do. 

The fleshly pastimes of the world, 
Though fair and sweet they seem, 

Have many to perdition hurled 
Through sin's enchanting dream. 

But those who build on God alone, 

A sure foundation lay ; 
Redeeming blood their sins atone 

The Life, the Truth, the Way. 

Dear Jesus ! Be our all in all. 

Our righteousness be thine. 
That we in darkness may not fall, 

But walk in light divine. 

For Thou our chosen Bridegroom art. 

Wooed by unfailing love. 
Each consecrated Christian heart 

Finds comfort from above. 



Thirty-two 



POEMS OF CATHARINE RYDER 



l^tnts mti Slow t»H. Har ani l|atr 



^T^ HAT might be done if men were wise, 
\Jy What glorious deeds, my suffering brothers, 
Would they unite in love and right 
And cease their scorn for one another. 

Oppression's heart might be imbued 
With kindly drops of loving-kindness, 
And knowledge pour from shore to shore ; 
Light on the eyes of mental blindness. 

All slavery, warfare, lies and wrongs. 
All vice and crime might die together, 
And wine and com to each man bom. 
Be free as warmth in Summer weather. 

The meanest wretch that ever trod. 
The deepest sunk in guilt and sorrow, 
Might stand erect in self-respect 
And share the teeming world to-morrow. 

What might be done ? This might be done, 
And more than this, my suffering brother. 
More than the tongue e'er said or sung, 
If men were wise and loved each other. 

July 3rd, 1882. 

— Catharine Ryder. 



Thirty-three 



POEMS OF CATHARINE RYDER 



Wroztn ©para 

-®-©-©- 

This child was lost, or strayed away from his sister, and 
not found until some four days after, when found on a snow 
drifted porch of a family living some two miles from the child's 
home and parents. 



IN MEMORIAM. 

GHILDISH travelers in the cities 
Sometimes lose their homeward way; 
Such the fate of Willie Hinger 
Out upon the streets one day. 

Lost and freezing, lost and freezing, 
Such was Willie's doleful fate, 

While ten thousand hearts of pity 
Sought to find him ere too late. 

Five years old and lost in Auburn, 
Such sad news were heard with pain, 

While many anxious searchers 
Sought the lost one all in vain. 



Thirty-four 



POEMS OF CATHARINE RYDER 



Nights and days in chilly winter 

Pass away ere he is found, 
Frozen tears and frozen body 

Hard in frozen slumber bound. 

Frozen tears like crystal pearls, 
Scattered o'er the lost child's cheek 

Told a story most pathetic, 
Naught but pity could bespeak. 

Frozen tears, no human helper 
Came in time to stop their flow ; 

But the "sleepless Watchman" answered 
To the lost boy's call of woe. 

For the "Holy Shepherd" spied him. 
Dying there outside the door ; 

Bade him enter "His bright kingdom," 
Where's no weeping evermore. 

Frozen tears on little weeper. 
Told of suffering and of pain. 

Frozen lifeless, little sleeper 
Nevermore shall weep again. 



Thirty-five 



POEMS OF CATHARINE RYDER 



Comfort take ! Grief stricken parents, 
He has missed the ills we know, 

Of this earth, life and its sorrows. 
Such as mortals find below. 

Safely home in the bright kingdom, 
Where all children, dying go. 

So the "kind good Savior" answered 
To his piteous call* of woe. 



Christmas morning. 1902. 



— Catharine Ryder. 




Thirty-six 



POEMS OF CATHARINE RYDER 



-©-©-©- 

Our foes are our passions, appetities and follies — Roosevelt. 

EOES within ! Aha, the token, 
From the Nation's Chieftain wise, 
Truthful words and fitly spoken, 
Each responsive heart replies. 

Yes, our passions harm us ever, 

Give to sin unbounded lease; 
And with woes of discord sever. 

Where should brood the Dove of Peace, 

Read the Holy Law's directions ! 

For the hasty spirit's cure. 
And all other vile affections 

Which our fallen race endure. 

How enslaving bonds are riven, 

How to cure the thirst for wine! 
Free to all the laws are given 

By the Counselor Divine. 

Appetites that cloud perception. 

Of the moral and the right; 
Make of man a wily demon, 

Blasting with a drunken blight. 



Thirty-seven 



POEMS OF CATHARINE RYDER 



Joys of home and love of woman, 

Brothers, sisters, children, wife; 
All must bear the curse inhuman — 

Of the drunkard's wicked life. 

O ! Then shun the ways of evil. 
Ere you stray from bad to worse ; 

Come to Christ for full reprieval. 
From each soul-destroying curse. 

Follies, follies ; are there any 

FVee from her enchanting snare? 
Sure, her devotees are many! 

Let the wisest ones beware! 

Heed then well the sacred dictum, 

Read with open hearts and eyes! 

Thus observe who is a victim 

Of the word that "fool" implies. 

— Catharine Ryder. 



Thirty-eight 



POEMS OF CATHARINE RYDER 



© 



3ti^tpttvtitntt lag 

ECAUSE it is so very hot, 



Too hot to work or play, 
We'll seek some cool and shady spot. 
This Independence day. 

Thermometer goes up to one, 
And the two rounded oo's, 
So let us hunt a shady spot, 
Forgetting all our woes. 
July 4th, 1911. — Catharine Ryder. 






Thirty-nine 



POEMS OF CATHARINE RYDER 



SIIiankBgttring iag 



-®-®-©- 

^s^HANKSGIVING day! Thanksgiving day! 
^^ Send out the needful warning! 
Is not a day that's singled out, 
But greets us every morning. 

Thanksgiving day! Thanksgiving day! 

Is like to every other, 
A day in which to serve the Lord 

And help a needy brother. 

Thanksgiving day! Thanksgiving day! 

The words like kind beseecher. 
Bid us seek life's thankful way. 

Through Christ, the Holy Teacher. 

Thanksgiving day! Thanksgiving day! 

Sound forth the joyous warning. 
Rise, Christian hearts, "to watch and pray," 

Thanksgiving lives adorning. 

Thanksgiving day! Thanksgiving day! 

Is not for sport and pleasure, 
But given as a life-time lease 

To lay up heavenly treasure. 



Forty 




At Ilfracombe 



POEMS OF CATHARINE RYDER 



Thanksgiving day! Thanksgiving day! 

0, heed the timely vs^arning, 
Is not a day all set apart, 

But greets us every morning. 

Thanksgiving day! Thanksgiving day! 

To hearts low bowed in sorrow, 
Look up beyond the earthly gloom, 

Where shines a bright to-morrow. 

Thanksgiving day! Thanksgiving day! 

Is counted here diurnal, 
But in God's holy presence there 

Thanksgiving is eternal. 

Thanksgiving Day, Nov. 24, 1904. 

— Catharine Ryder. 




Forty-one 



POEMS OF CATHARINE RYDER 



o 



-©-®-®- 

ARK clouds hang o'er the western sky, 



And through the mist I gaze with eager eye, 
If I could catch one gleam of silver light, 
Perchance my own heart cloud would seem more bright. 
As gold is purified by burning heat. 
So souls that they their blessed Lord may meet. 
Are cast in furnaces of living pain. 
Through bitter suffering God makes them white again. 
It is the pure in heart, "Who see their God," 
For that reward we bow and kiss the rod ; 
Our Father leads us as He thinketh best. 
To realms of peace and everlasting rest. 

— Catharine Ryder. 
Mt. Joy, Pa., February 5th, 1876. 



b'orty-two 



POEMS OF CATHARINE RYDER 



®ur ^orm 



iTT^HERE we live can matter little, 
vL/ Whilst sojourning here below, 
But 'tis how we live determines 

Our eternal weal or woe. 
Thus 'twill be at God's tribunal. 

When we're judged at the last day. 
Where we lived will not be questioned. 

All that matters is the way. 
If we search the hills and mountains, 

Pleasant vales or prairies wide, 
'Tis the same in every nation, 
Wheat and tares grow side by side. 

— Catharine Ryder. 



Forty-three 



POEMS OF CATHARINE RYDER 



Suprg f par 

-@-©-®- 

Transposed from Albert Pike's sad poem, by Catherine Ryder. 

^^:^HE DAYS have more of gladness 
V!*/ Every year, 

The nights less weight of sadness. 

Every year; 
For softer our relentment, 
Gives peace without resentment. 
And doubles our contentment. 
Every year. 

There come fewer cares and sorrows, 

Every year. 
Fairer days and brighter morrows, 

Every year; 
No longer dead loves haunt us, 
Nor ghosts of changed friends taunt us. 
Nor disappointments daunt us, 

Every year. 

Our life is more worth living, 

Every year, 
Sincerer our thanksgiving, 

Every year; 



Forty-four 



POEMS OF CATHARINE RYDER 



As more sober grows reflection, 
From the fund of recollection, 

Draw we treasures for inspection, 
Every year. 

Oh, how bright to look before us. 

Every year. 
See the beacon-lights hang o'er us, 

Every year; 
Gifts of love like manna falling, 
To our murmuring souls are calling. 
Why this unbelief appalling, 

Every year. 

Darkened hearts grow cold and numlj 

Every year. 
Then "The evil days are come," 

Every year; 
Disobedience brings the sighing, 
"Grace of God" and love defying. 
On their own good works relying. 

Every year. 

Though to the past go more dead faces. 

Every year. 
Newer life fills up their places. 

Every year; 
Everywhere the glad eyes meet us, 
With life's rosy morn they greet us, 
And their angel lips entreat us, 

Every year. 



Forty-five 



POEMS OF CATHARINE RYDER 



"You are growing old," they tell us, 

Every year, 
"You are more alone," they tell us. 

Every year. 

"Allein und doch nicht ganz alleine. 
Bin Ich in meiner sinsamkeit, 

Dann avann Ich gleick verlassen scheine, 
Vertreibt mir Jesus selbst die zeit; 

Ich bin bey ihm, und er bey mir, 

So koment mir gar nichts einsam fuer." 

Translation from Allein. 

Alone, yet not alone am I, 

Though in this solitude so drear, 

I feel my Saviour alw^ays nigh, 

He comes my dreary hours to cheer, 

I am w^ith Him and He with me. 
Thus cannot solitary be. 

But the better life draws nigher. 

Every year. 
And its morning star climbs higher. 

Every year; 
Earth's hold on us grows slighter, 
And our worldly burdens lighter. 
And the Dawn Immortal brighter. 

Every year. 



Forty-six 



POEMS OF CATHARINE RYDER 



See! See! Life's shores are shifting, 
Every year, 

We are to the eternal drifting, 
Every year; 

No losses there will grieve us, 

Nor loving faces leave us. 

No death of friends bereave us, 
Every year. 




Forty-seven 



POEMS OF CATHARINE RYDER 



ONE OF the sweet old chapters, 
After a day like this: 
The day that brought tears and trouble, 
The evening brings no kiss. 

No rest in the arms I long for. 

Rest and refuge and home, 
Grieved, and lonely, and weary. 

Unto the Book I come. 

One of the sweet old chapters, 
The love that blossoms through, 

His care of the birds and lilies. 
Out in the meadows of dew. 

His evenings lies soft around them. 

Their faith is simply to be ; 
Oh, hushed by the tender lessons. 

My God, let me rest in Thee. 



Forty-eight 



POEMS OF CATHARINE RYDER 



ilg pBalm 



J. G. WHITTIBR 

Published by Houghton, Mi£Elin & Co. 
-®-®-©- 

X MOURN no more my vanished years, 
Beneath a tender rain. 
An April rain of smiles and tears, 

My heart is young again. 
The west winds blow and singing low, 

I hear the glad streams run, 
The windows of my soul I throw 
Wide open to the sun. 

No longer forward nor behind, 

I look in hope and fear. 
But grateful, take the good I find. 

The best of now and here. 

I plough no more a desert land. 

For harvest weed and tare, 
The manna dropping from God's hand 

Rebukes my painful care. 
I break my pilgrim staff, I lay 

Aside the toiling oar. 
The angel sought so far away, 

I welcome at my door. 



Forty-nine 



POEMS OF CATHARINE RYDER 



The woods shall wear their robes of praise, 

The south winds softly sigh, 
And sweet calm days in golden haze 

Melt down the amber sky. 

Not less shall manly deed and word, 

Rebuke an age of wrong, 
The graven flowers that wreathe the sword 

Make not the blade less strong. 

Enough that blessings undeserved 
Have marked my erring track, 

That wheresoe'er my feet have swerved, 
His chastening turned me back. 

That more and more a providence' 

Of love is understood. 
Making the springs of time and sense, 

Sweet with eternal good. 

That death seems but a covered way 

Which opens into light. 
Wherein no blinded child can stray. 

Beyond the Father's sight. 

That care and trial seem at last, 
Through memory's sunset air. 

Like mountain ranges overpast. 
In purple distance fair. 



Fifty 



POEMS OF CATHARINE RYDER 



That all the jarring notes of life, 

Seem blending in a psalm, 
And all the angles of its strife, 

Slow rounding into calm. 

And so the shadows fall apart, 

And so the west winds play. 
And all the windows of my heart, 

I open to this day. — Selected. 




Fifty-one 



POEMS OF CATHARINE RYDER 



Jin ^tmsmbvwxa of Mtrljapl ^^hsv 

- ® ® ® - 

Born March 2nd, 1811. Died October 26th, 1830. 
Age 19 years, 11 months and 25 days. 

My soul, my loving God doth keep, 

I in my silent grave do sleep. 

Come, mourning friends, with me reflect. 

Here is our Saviour's resting bed 

All kings and priests shall with us share. 

Ever in God's tender care. 

Look aloft, the spirit is risen, 

Redeemed by grace, through Jesus given, 

Yonder in bliss of glory shine, 

Dear Lord, I am thine and wholly thine. 

Ever with Jesus I shall rove 

Ready to strike the harp above. 

-©-©-©- 

This acrostic was written by his sister, Eliza Ryder, soon 
after his death and carved on his tombstone. The only brother 
then of five sisters. 



Fifty-two 



POEMS OF JOB ELLETSON 



®I|f %\m Itri 



>|^ ELCOME ! sweet bird of early spring, 
\\J Thou fairy minstrel, dressed in blue, 
I would rejoice to hear thee sing, 
Yet fear! some harm may come to you. 

For see the snow is falling fast. 
Then come thee here, mild pensive bird. 
Thy friend am I, fear not the blast. 
Thou shalt have shelter, shalt be fed. 

And tell me why it was thou came 
So soon to leave thy southern home? 
And why thou plumed thy wing in flight 
Towards this semi-frigid zone. 

Or whether thou didst deem it wise 
So soon to leave Virginia's shore? 
For thou art here it seems to me. 
Much sooner than in years of yore. 

Yet thou art dumb to all I ask. 
But could'st thou tell thy simple tale, 
I ween it was the cannon's roar 
That drove thee to this peaceful vale. 



Fifty-six 




Job Elletson Just from 
His Work 



POEMS OF JOB ELLETSON 



Perhaps it was that thou beheld 
Which caused thy slender frame to shiver, 
The blood of youth and beauty spilled 
That drove thee o'er Potomac river. 

Or perchance it is could'st thou but tell, 
That thou hast seen in human form, 
Demons furiously their wrath unveil, 
More fearful than the wildest storm. 

If such be what thou'st heard, and seen. 
Convulsed hast been thy breast with fear. 
Rejoice I say then, thou with me. 
That with thy head and wings thou'rt here. 

Oh stay with us then, lovely bird. 
And fly not south of Dixie's line. 
For "storms will not forever last," 
The sun again will surely shine. 

Then let thy fairy wings recline 

And shrink thee not with hunger's dread, 

But rest thee in this grove of pine 

I'll feed thee still, thou shalt be fed. 

The sun will shine again ere long, 
Then leave this grove the fields to stray 
Where thou canst sing thy cheerful song. 
And chant thy sorrows all away. 

West Franklin Nurseries, February 10, 1863. 
Job Elletson, Printer. 



Fifty-seven 



POEMS OF JOB ELLETSON 



Clotttg to ®IjtirrI| 

fOME go to church to take a walk, 
Some go there to laugh and talk. 
Some go to church for observation, 
But some go there for speculation. 
Some go there to meet a lover. 
And some go there a fault to cover. 
Some go there to meet a friend, 
And some go there their time to spend. 
Some go there to sing a sonnet. 
But some go there to show their bonnet. 
Some go to church oppressed with grief. 
Some go there to find relief. 
Some go to hear a grand oration, 
Some go to glorify the nation. 
Some go to hear about the war. 
Some go to show how good they are. 
Some go repentant and repenting, 
But some go hardened, unrelenting. 
Some go to praise, to pray and weep. 
But some go there to lounge and sleep. 
Some go to better their condition, 
Some go to gain a good commission. 
While some go there to doze and nod. 
There's many go to worship God. 

Elletson. 



Fifty-eight 



POEMS OF JOB ELLETSON 



All About a pnmroHf 

I f Vi r? i (* ?i - 

Xwent to buy a Primrose, 
But I found I was too late, 
For others just before me 
Had taken small and great. 

And thus being disappointed, 
When all my plans were made. 

Seemed just like counting chickens 
Before the eggs are laid. 

So I have waited disconcerted. 
And you see I have waited long, 

But it gave me inspiration 
To sing this Primrose song. 

Again I went a primrosing, 

And I've loitered long and slow, 

But I have gained by being detained. 
For it gave it time to grow. 

And now I have a primrose, 

And it's blooming fresh and new. 

And with my kindest true regards 
I'm sending it to you. 



Fifty-nine 



POEMS OF JOB ELLETSON 



I love a dainty primrose, 

Sweet, charming, pretty thing. 
With upturned cup of shining gold, 

Fair harbinger of Spring. 

It is so dainty, sweet and charming, 

When the birds begin to sing, 
And I know of nothing sweeter 

In the budding of the Spring. 

In years before my "teens" began 

My labours it would cheer. 
Toil nor pain could it restrain 

My joy when it was near. 

Although it's but a Primrose, 

It a mission has to cheer, 
Then give it place, that it may grace 

Our hopeful infant year. 

Give it water, warmth and light. 

And keep its foliage clean. 
That it may bloom both day and night, 

And grow more tender green. 

When it has bloomed its blooming best. 

Please mind now what I say, 

Just plant it out without a doubt 

About the first of May. 

— J. Elletson. 
Floral Nurseries, 1908. 



Sixty 



POEMS OF JOB ELLETSON 



OH, EFFIE ! What roses ! Why in truth they are 
perfection. 

I must get some for mama, pray give me direction ! 

All the cars in the city that are turned to the east 

Go right to the place where you'll have a grand feast. 

There are roses, sweet beauties that are iit for a queen, 

All colors by hundreds, except blue and green ; 

They are cheap, very cheap, 0, so very cheap, my dear 
cousin, 

You can get them, such beauties, only fifty cents per 
dozen, 

AT ELLETSON's FLORAL NURSERIES, Franklin Street. 




Sixty-one 



POEMS OF JOB ELLETSON 



iEut ^tstt Ittrg tat luaer (Sett 

J. G. WHITTIER. 

Published by Houghton, Mifflin & Co. 

iy^E WAIT beneath the furnace blast 
\Xy ^^^ pangs of transformation; 
Not painlessly does God recast 
And mould anew the nation. 
Hot bums the fire 
Where wrongs expire, 
Nor spares the hand 
That from the land 
Uproots the ancient evil. 

The hand-breadth cloud the sages feared 
Its bloody rain is dropping; 
The poison-plant the fathers spared 
All else is overtopping. 
East, West, South, North, 
It curses earth; 
All justice dies. 
And fraud and lies 
Live only in its shadow. 

What gives the wheat-field blades of steel? 

What points the rebel cannon? 
What sets the roaring rabble's heel 
On the old star-spangled pennon? 
What breaks the oath 
Of the men o' the South? 
What whets the knife 
For the Union's life? 
Hark to the answer— SLAVERY ! 



Sixty-two 



POEMS OF JOB ELLETSON 



Then waste no blows on lesser foes 

In strife, unworthy freemen. 
God lifts to-day the veil and shows 
The features of the demon ! 
North and South ! 
Its victims both 
Can ye not cry, 
"Let Slavery Die!" 
And Union find in freedom? 

What though the cast out spirit tear 

The nation in its going, 
We who have shared the guilt must share 
The pang of his o'erthrowing ! 
Whate'er the loss, 
Whate'er the cross. 
Shall they complain 
Of present pain 
Who trust in God's hereafter? 

For who that leans on His right arm 

Was ever yet forsaken? 
What righteous cause can suffer harm 
If He its part has taken ? 
Though wild and loud 
And dark the cloud 
Behind its folds 
His hand upholds 
The calm sky of tomorrow ! 



Sixty-three 



POEMS OF JOB ELLETSON 



Above the maddening cry for blood, 

Above the wild war drumming, 
Let freedom's voice be heard, with good 
The evil overcoming; 
Give prayer and purse 
To stay the curse 
Whose wrong we share, 
Whose shame we bear. 
Whose end shall gladden heaven ! 

In vain the bells of war shall ring 

Of triumphs and revenges. 
While still is spared the evil thing 
That severs and estranges. 
But blest the ear 
That yet shall hear 
The jubilant bell 
That rings the knell 
Of slavery forever ! 

Then let the selfish lip be dumb 

And hushed the breath of sighing, 
Before the joy of peace must come 
The pain of purifying. 
God give us grace, 
Each in his place, 
To bear his lot. 
And, murmur not, 
Endure, and wait and labour. 
West Franklin Nurseries, November, 1862. 
Job Elletson, Printer. 



Sixty-four 



POEMS OF JOB ELLETSON 



IGtfif on ti|f ®rf an Wattj? 

Composed by henry Russell. 
A song so often and effectively sung by J. Elletson. 



H 



LIFE on the ocean wave, 
A home on the rolling deep, 
Where the scattered waters rave, 
And the winds their revels keep. 
A home on the rolling deep. 
Where the scattered waters rave, 
And the winds their revels keep. 
Like an eagle caged I pine 
On this dull unchanging shore, 
! Give me the flashing brine. 
The spray and the tempest's roar, 
A life on the ocean wave ; 
A home on the rolling deep. 
Where the scattered waters rave ! 
And the winds their revels keep. 

Chonis — • 
The winds, the winds, the winds their revels keep, 
The winds, the winds, the winds their revels keep. 

Once more on the deck I stand. 

Of my own swift gliding craft, 

Set sail ! Set sail ! Farewell to the land. 

The gale follows fair abaft 

Of my own swift gliding craft ; 



Sixty-five 



POEMS OF JOB ELLETSON 



Set sail ; farewell to the land, 

The gale follows fair abaft. 

We shoot through the sparkling foam, 

Like an ocean bird set free ; 

Like the ocean bird our home 

We'll find far out at sea — 

A life on the ocean wave! 

A home on the rolling deep ! 

Where the scattered waters rave 

And the winds their revels keep. 

Chorus — 

The winds, etc. 

The land is no longer in view, 
The clouds have begun to frown ; 
But with a stout vessel and crew. 
We'll say let the storm come down, 
And the song of our hearts shall be 
While the winds and the waters rave, 
A life on the heaving sea, 
A home on the bounding wave, 
A life on the ocean wave, 
A home on the rolling deep. 
Where the scattered waters rave 
And the winds their revels keep. 
Chonis — ■ 

The winds, the winds, etc. 



Sixty -six 



THOUGHTS FROM OTHER PENS 



Her Darkest Hour Doth but Precede the 
Dawn, Says Versifier 

Belgium is written on the heart of the world. An inmate 
of the Axbridge Workhouse of Union has given his all to the 
stricken country; not material goods but an expression of en- 
couragement, praise and sympathy which tallies well with the 
dollars of those who have never tasted want or loneliness. The 
blow that sent G. F. Shaw to the poorhouse opened a big heart 
to little Belgium. The following shown to the Citizen by Joseph 
French, is Shaw's contribution to the war-crushed country: 

HAND of the martyred hero. 
Land of the battle's strife. 
Land of the sobbing sweetheart, 
Land of the waiting wife; 
Land of the weeping widow. 
Land of the orphaned child, 
Land where the Hunnish heathen 
By man and God deiiled, 
Stript honour of its meaning, 
Cast every law aside — 
But what an awful gleaning, 
When once has turned the tide. 

Belgium ! thy cause is righteous, 
Belgium! thy cause is just; 
And with thy faith-bound allies 
Win through thou surely must. 
And tho' thy wound torn children 
Are for a time subdued. 
Yet shalt thou rise victorious, 
With faith and hope imbued ; 
A pattern to thy neighbors, 
A credit to the world ; 
When ended are thy labors. 
And thy proud flag is furled. 



Seventy 



THOUGHTS FROM OTHER PENS 



So, Belgium, bear up bravely, 

God knows thy cup is full, 

And for thy king and country 

Let nought thy ardour dull ; 

Strike when the moment offers, 

Strike hard, strike swift, strike sure, 

For Truth, Right, Faith and Honor 

Shall to the end endure ; 

And when the "cultured" savage. 

Before thine arms dost flee, 

The greater thy distresses. 

So shall thy victory be. 

Belgium ! The world is waiting — 
The world of Truth and Right— 
And Russia ! France ! and Britain ! 
Who're with thee in the fight. 
Have sworn to drag the monster 
Down from his blood stained throne. 
And mean to raise thy country 
Again unto its own. 
So, little sister, weep not. 
Thy troubles bravely bear. 
The eyes of those that sleep not 
Are watching thee with care. 

The soldier in the trenches, 
The sailor on the sea. 
Are waiting for the moment 
To meet the enemy ; 
So, Belgium! Europe's flower, 
Tho' stricken and forlorn, 
Earth's darkest, drfiariest hour, 
Doth but precede the dawn. 
And as the morning sunshine 
Lights the eastern skies. 
Ennobled, chastened, honoured. 
Triumphant thou shalt rise. 



Seventy-one 



THOUGHTS FROM OTHER PENS 



^^E^HERE'S a wideness in God's mercy, 
^^y Like the wideness of the sea ; 
There's a kindness in his justice. 
Which is more than liberty. 

There is no place where earth's sorrows 
Are more felt than up in heaven ; 

There is no place where earth's failings 
Have such kindly judgment given. 

For the love of God is broader 
Than the measure of man's mind ; 

And the heart of the Eternal 
Is most wonderfully kind. 

But we make his love too narrow. 

By false limits of our own ; 
And we magnify his strictness 

With a zeal He will not own. 

If our love were but more simple, 
We should take him at his word ; 

And our lives would be all sunshine 
In the sweetness of our Lord. 

— Faber. 



Seventy-two 




Lucy and Tom with "Tot" 
AND Their Cart 



THOUGHTS FROM OTHER PENS 



Pinsmttth prag^r 



'-^ ASKED for bread; God gave a stone instead, 
J^ Yet while I pillowed there my weary head, 
The angels made a ladder of my dreams. 
Which upward to celestial mountains led, 
And when I woke beneath the morning's beams, 
Around my resting-place fresh manna lay ; 
And, praising God, I went upon my way. 
For I was fed. 

I asked for strength ; for with the noontide heat, 
I fainted while the reapers, singing sweet, 
Went forward with the sheaves I could not bear. 
Then came the Master with His blood-stained feet, 
And lifted me with sympathetic care. 
Then on His arm I leaned till all was done; 
And I stood with the rest at set of sun. 
My task complete. 

I asked for light ; around me closed the night. 
Nor guiding star met my bewildered sight, 
For storm-clouds gathered in a tempest near. 
Yet in the lightning's blazing, roaring flight, 
I saw the way before me, straight and clear. 
What though His leading pillar was of fire, 
And not the sunbeam of my heart's desire. 
My path was bright. 

God answers prayer ; sometimes when hearts are weak 
He gives the very gifts believers seek. 
But often faith must learn a deeper rest. 
And trust God's silence when He does not speak; 
For He whose name is Love will send the best. 
Stars may burn out, nor mountain walls endure. 
But God is true, His promises are sure 
To those who seek. 



Seventy-three 



THOUGHTS FROM OTHER PENS 



GOODBY kiss is a little thing, 
With your hand on the door to go, 
But it takes the venom out of the sting 
Of a thoughtless word or a cruel fling 

That you made an hour ago. 
A kiss of greeting is sweet and rare 

After the toil of the day. 
And it smoothes the furrows plowed by care, 

The lines on the forehead you once called fair. 

In the years that have flown away. 
'Tis a little thing to say : "You are kind. 

"I love you, dear," each night. 

But it sends a thrill through your heart, I find. 
For love is tender, love is blind. 

As we climb life's rugged height. 
We starve each other for love's caress ; 

We take, but we do not give. 

It seems so easy some soul to bless, 

But we dole the love grudgingly, less and less. 

Till 'tis bitter and hard to live. 

— Pittsburg Bulletin. 



Seventy-four 



THOUGHTS FROM OTHER PENS 



St (Snullin't Sp inttp 



'OMEBODY said that it couldn't be done, 
But he, with a chuckle, replied 
That "maybe it couldn't" but he would be one 

Who wouldn't say so till he tried. 
So he buckled right in, with a trace of a grin 

On his face. If he worried, he hid it. 

He started to sing as he tackled the thing 

That couldn't be done, and he did it! 

Sonaebody scoffed: "Oh, you'll never do that, 

At least no one ever has done it;" 
But he took off his coat and he took off his hat 

And the first thing we knew he'd begun it: 
With the lift of his chin, and a bit of a grin 

Without any doubting or quibbling; 
He started to sing as he tackled the thing 

That couldn't be done, and he did it ! 

There are thousands to tell you it cannot be done, 

There are thousands to prophesy failure; 
There are thousands to point out to you, one by one, 

The dangers that wait to assail you ; 
But just buckle in with a bit of a grin. 

Then take off your coat and go to it ; 
Just start in to sing as you tackle the thing 

That "cannot be done" and you'll do it! 



Seventy-five 



THOUGHTS FROM OTHER PENS 



-e&-@-@- 

The circumstances which induced the writing of the follow- 
ing touching and thrilling lines are as follows: A young lady 
of New York was in the habit of writing for a Philadelphia 
paper on the subject of Temperance. — Her writing was so full 
of pathos, and evinced such deep emotion of soul, that a friend 
of hers accused her of being a maniac on the subject of Tem- 
perance — whereupon she wrote the following lines: 

-®-©-@- 

eO FEEL what I have felt, 
Go bear what I have borne — 
Sink 'neath the blow by father dealt, 
And the cold world's proud scorn; 
Then suffer on from year to year — 
Thy sole relief the scalding tear. 

Go kneel as I have knelt, 

Implore, beseech and pray — 
Strive the besotted heart to melt, 

The downward course to stay, 
Be dashed with bitter curse aside, , 

Your prayers burlesqued, your tears defied. 

Go weep as I have wept 

O'er a loved father's fall- 
See every promised blessing swept — 



Seventy-six 



THOUGHTS FROM OTHER PENS 



Youth's sweetness turned to gall — 
Life's fading flowers strewed all the way — 
That brought me up to woman's day. 
Go see what I have seen, 

Behold the strong man bowed — 
With gnashing teeth — lips bathed in blood — 

And cold the livid brow; 
Go catch his withered glance and see 
There mirrored, his soul's misery. 

Go to thy mother's side. 

And her crushed bosom cheer; 
Thine own deep anguish hide; 

Wipe from her cheek the bitter tear ; 
Mark her worn frame and withered brow — 
The gray that streaks her dark hair now — 
With fading frame and trembling limb ; 
And trace the ruin back to him 
Whose plighted faith, in early youth, 
Promised eternal love and truth. 
But who, forsworn, hath yielded up 
That promise to the cursed cup ; 
And led her down, through love and light, 
And all that made her prospects bright; 
And chain'd her there, 'mid want and strife — 
That lowly thing, a drunkard's wife — 



Seventy-seven 



THOUGHTS FROM OTHER PENS 



And stamp'd on childhood's brow so mild, 
That withering blight, the drunkard's child. 

Go hear, and feel, and see, and know, 
All that my soul hath felt and known, 

Then look upon the wine cup's glow, 
See if its beauty can atone — 

Think if its flavor you will try 

When all proclaim ' 'tis drink and die !' 

Tell me I hate the bowl — 

Hate is a feeble word, 
/ loathe — ABHOR — my very soul 

With strong disgust is stirr'd. 

When I see, or hear, or tell 
Of the dark beverage of hell. 



Seventy-eight 



THOUGHTS FROM OTHER PENS 



BY ROBERT M. BARD. ESQ. 

-©-®-®- 

^^!;^RUE I am old, but 'tis not years alone 

^^ Have thinned and whitened thus these locks 

That do but mock my temples with a covering. 

Grief hastens age, her wand can weave with time, 

The wrinkles she inscribes upon the brow 

Are deep as his ; and deeper on the heart 

Her footprints. Years may bow the body down. 

But sorrow, thine the power to bend the soul, — 

And who like want can teach humility? 

Affliction's hand has pressed me to the earth 

And lean and withered Poverty has thrown 

Around me as you see her tattered mantle. 

Whilst my old days behold me here a beggar, 

As houseless as the deer upon the hills 

That knows not where to seek a shelter, when 

The snow storm leads the bent and groaning ::Ir — 

Asking from door to door precarious bread, 

The crumbs that fall from plenty's burthened table. 

The world is full of men, but none have I 

For fellows, of some other race methinks 

I am — the last remaining of my kind. 

Amid the crowd I move as by myself, 



Seventy-nine 



THOUGHTS FROM OTHER PENS 



Like some lone bird transported from its place, 

And freed beneath some sky it never saw, 

'Mong birds of every song except its own. 

There is not one on earth that knows me ; none 

To look with kindness on me as I pass, 

Save now and then some gentle ones — and they 

Only because their pity is a tribute 

They give to every wretched thing that lives. 

All that have ever loved me have departed, 

They who in my age would have ministered 

To me are not. A little group of graves 

Grown thickly o'er with grass and mountain flowers. 

And yearly dressed by their old father's hands 

Is all that God hath left me of my children. 

My Mary sleeps beside them — happy that 

She stayed not long enough on earth to know 

How like a desert this green world may be, 

Without one living o'er all its breadth 

The heart may cling to, or that clings to us, 

Of all my house I only have been left, 

A wretch so leagued with want and misery 

That I have naught to do but suffer on. 

In silence through my earthly pilgrimage 

All hopeless that my lot shall e'er be mended. 

But soon my steps must end, some day perhaps, 



Eighty 



THOUGHTS FROM OTHER PENS 



I'll lay me down aweary by the wayside, 
My arm beneath my head, and no one near, 
And die : — Some passing traveler perchance. 
Will find the beggar's corpse, and strangers' pence 
Collected from the neighborhood, will hire 
Some other wretch to give it burial. 
Chambersburg, Pa., 1839. 



Through the kindness of the friend who has furnished the 
News with a number of original poems that have appeared in 
its columns lately we are enabled to publish a poem, "The Men- 
dicant," by the late Robert M. Bard, Esq., of Chambersburg, 
written in 1839. 




Eighty-one 



A 3tm 2Ittt00 
KppxHmtmn 




a k 




A FEW LINES OF APPRECIATION 



-© — © — ©~ 

(Central House.) 

^rt ITH birds, roses and flowers, in this gay world of 
^^ ours. 

With its sunshine and rain, pleasure and pain ; 
Take care not to fall or slip, as you run, dance or skip, 
For in life we all meet both bitter and sweet. 
And every young girl tries hard to unfurl 
The tangle and strife we all meet in life. 
And too soon will try, her young wings to fly, 
But quietly rest, in your good mother's nest. 
When fullfledged you can roam, and find a new home, 
With its sunshine and rain, pleasure and pain. 
No falling or slipping, as down life you're skipping, 
And with all that you meet, remove the bitter from 
sweet. 
With best wishes for my Lucie. 1913. 

—A. R. E. 



Eighty-four 



A FEW LINES OF APPRECIATION 



Wo MubUt Eom 

-©-©-©■ 

^^5^0 BE a bright, active boy, but no idle toy, 
^U Be wide awake, and a very good boy, 
At school learning your lessons so well, 
The teacher surprised, will hurry to tell. 
Our brightest lad has such good common sense. 
For the future he saves all his pennies and pence 
No cigarette holes in his pockets are found, 
But self saving pennies that make up the pound. 
Casting the useless toys to the big rubbish heap, 
A double interest your wisdom will reap. 
The small boy soon grows the big man. 
So with high aim, beat "Dad" if you can. 

Tom and Tot not forgot. 

1913. —A. R. E. 




Eighty-five 



A FEW LINES OF APPRECIATION 



dan Npwr S^orgrt 



^"t'OUR own "Merrie England," our own mother land, 
^^ Where nations stretch out, to her helping hand. 
Her children's children call it the home of the blest; 
Her foods, fruits and flowers are always the best. 

With the song of the birds and the perfume of flowers, 
Her scents, sights and sounds all better than ours; 
Away in the wilderness, where'er we may roam. 
The birthplace of childhood is that ever cherished home. 

We may grow richer in land and grow more potatoes. 

But in England under glass they grow all their 
tomatoes. 

And when on our long dreary roads, traveling alone, 

We wish for English curves, and just around corners 
a home. 

And when on a calm Sabbath mom, you hear church- 
bells of Hedon, 

You are startled to think them the sweet bells of 
• Heaven. 

So deeply impressed with your goodness, we can never 
forget. 

But with eyes swimming in tears, look back vsdth 
regret. — A. R. E, 

Ever in remembrance. 1913. 



Eighty-six 



A FEW LINES OF APPRECIATION 



-©-®-®- 

1836. 1913. 

XN THE evening of our earthly days, 
And the coming on of night, 
May we awake to give him praise 
In that eternal home of light. 

And there to meet in sweet communion, 

All the loved ones gone before, 
And praise "Our Lord" for this reunion, 

On that hoped for happier shore. 

Then this hope in our evening days, 
Dispels the darkness of the night. 

And awakes in us both prayer and praise, 
As the darkness, at the newborn light. 
1913. —A. R. E. 



Eighty-seven 



A FEW LINES OF APPRECIATION 



®o Amg 



-®-®-©- 

A Teacher in the English Church School at Hull. 

^TT^N THE struggles and strife of your busy life, 
-"^ You are sowing good seeds that grow noble deeds, 
And from the prison within you are weeding from sin 
The mind of the child neglected and wild. 

As you do it to those, you do it unto Me ; 
When sick and in prison you have visited me, 
Then your harvest will yield, when reaping your field; 
Faithful servant, well done, to My rest you have come, 
Enter into the joy of Thy Lord. Amen. 
1913. —A. R. E. 




Eighty-eight 




St. Mary's Church at Thorngumbold 
Dates from 1100 a. d. 



A FEW LINES OF APPRECIATION 



©0 Sbttlj 

-®-en&- 

A Teacher In the Church School at HulL 

>~-t' OUR labors of love are in the vineyard above, 
^^ And if you sow the good seeds, and pull out the 

weeds. 
And sifting from sin the wheat garnered in, 
Then soon you will see what the harvest will be. 
Your talents you keep, they grow while you reap, 
And out from your school comnjissioned to rule, 
Faithful over a few things, ruler over many things. 
Your sentence has come, faithful servant well done. 

Enter into the joy of thy Lord. Amen. 
December, 1913. —A. R. E. 



Eighty-nine 



A FEW LINES OF APPRECIATION 



At Mfrntambt 

-©-©-®- 

To a Dear Friend in the Home Land. 

iyiEARY and lone, 

^^ We, faraway strangers, found this good home. 
And met a most tender kind welcome, 
At Eastbourne in Iifracombe. 
Tired and hungry, 

And from long walks weary, this restful home. 
Bid ready to full meals, a hearty kind welcome. 
At Eastbourne in lUracombe. 
In Heaven above, 

Kind friends, may you find the home of God's 

love. 
Returning the joy of the kind welcome 
You gave us mlHmcombe. 
July, 1913. —A. R. E. 



Ninety 



THOUGHTS FROM OTHER PENS 



Sttptttng of SItfp 

-©-®-©- 

^^^HE brightness of the day is gone, 
^[/ God's sun has ceased to shine 
And left the silvery one to rule 
The night with beams sublime. 

Dear Lord, I humbly bow to Thee 

Before I lay me down. 
And thank Thee for the blessings of 

The day that's past and gone. 

And when I lay my body down 

Upon my bed to rest, 
Relieve my mind from earthly cares 

And all I have possessed. 

And if it be Thy holy will 

To call me home tonight, 
Receive me to Thyself, dear Lord, 

To dwell with Thee in light. 

That I may see Thee as Thou art 

In that bright world above, 
And with the holy angels dwell 

In harmony and love. 

The above pretty little poem was composed by Miss Annie 
Miller of Lampeter, Lancaster County, Pa., when she was 91 
years of age. She is now 95 and enjoys unusually good health. 
In her early years she taught school and from her youth led an 
exemplary Christian life. She is the only survivor of the noted 
25 who were on one occasion received by baptism into the primi- 
tive Reformed Mennonite Church by John Herr. 



Ninety-four 



THOUGHTS FROM OTHER PENS 



"Autttg Ann" Miihr pmatB auiag 

One of the very oldest residents of Lancaster county, Miss 
Annie Miller, more widely and affectionately known as "Aunty 
Ann" Miller, died on Tuesday afternoon at four o'clock, at the 
home of her nephew, Mr. H. Witmer Miller at Lampeter Square. 
For some months past her physical powers that had retained 
their vigor most unusually even to a great age began to fail, 
but she was not dangerously ill for more than a few days and 
she entered peacefully into rest, being conscious almost to the 
end. 

Miss Miller had rather an unusual career. Had she lived 
until the 17th of April next she would have reached her ninety- 
ninth year, her birth having preceded by three years the War 
of 1812. She was a daughter of Samuel and Anna Miller, long 
since deceased, and the last survivor of their ten children. Her 
entire life was spent in Lampeter, where her family took prece- 
dence in standing in the community. She possessed a bright 
intellect and as a young woman was considerably in advance of 
her times in learning. This found its natural development in a 
private school established by her individual effort, in which 
book knowledge was not only imparted, but also the branches 
of domestic economy. The character of the times is well illus- 
trated in the fact that a recompense to the teacher of three 
cents per day was considered an ample return and the custom- 
ary charge was two and one-half cents. 

Miss Miller enjoyed the distinction of being the oldest mem- 
ber of the New Mennnonite Church, in her age and the length 
of time she had affiliated with the denomination, as she joined 
at the age of fifteen. For the past twenty-nine years she 
made her home with her nephew, Mr. H. Witmer Miller, who 
cared for her and attended her every want with a devotion that 
was extreme to the last degree. The aged lady was also the 



Ninety-five 



THOUGHTS FROM OTHER PENS 



object of tender solicitude and attention from many of her 
nieces and nephews, a large number of whom reside in this 
county, and who are as follows: Mrs. Kate Kreider, Sterling, 
Ills.; Mrs. Fanny Harman, Washington, D. C; H. Witmer Mil- 
ler, Lampeter ; William Miller, Ardmore ; Joseph M. Potts, Stras- 
burg; Martin Barr, Washington, D. C; Dr. D. M. Barr, Phila- 
delphia; Henry W. Miller, Montaville, Oregon, and John R. 
Miller, Derrick City, Pa. Among the grand-nephews and nieces 
are Dr. R. M. Bolenius, Dr. P. P. Breneman, Joseph P. Brene- 
man, Miss May Breneman, Mrs. Ira H. Bare, Mrs. Milo B. Herr 
and Mrs. A. F. Strickler of this city. 

The funeral will be held on Friday afternoon at two o'clock, 
with services in the Reformed Mennonite Meeting House at 
Lampeter and interment in the adjoining cemetery. 

The Presbyterian prints a war anecdote of an un- 
conventional sort. Different readers will read more 
or less into it, according to their different habits of 
mind, but all will find it interesting. 

Some Americans who were crossing the Atlantic 
met in the cabin on Sunday night to sing hymns. As 
they sang the last hymn, "Jesus, Lover of My Soul," 
one of them heard an exceedingly rich and beautiful 
voice behind him. He looked round, and, although he 
did not know the face, he thought that he knew the 
voice. So, when the music ceased, he turned and asked 
the man if he had been in the civil war. The man 
replied that he had been a Confederate soldier. 

"Were you at such a place on such a night?" asked 
the first man. 



Ninety-six 



THOUGHTS FROM OTHER PENS 



"Yes," replied the second man, "and a curious thing 
happened that night which this hymn has recalled to 
my mind. I was posted on sentry duty near the edge 
of a wood. It was a dark night and very cold, and I 
was a little frightened because the enemy were sup- 
posed to be very near. About midnight, when every- 
thing was still and I was feeling homesick and misera- 
ble and weary, I thought that I would comfort myself 
by praying and singing a hymn. I remember singing 
these lines: 

"All my trust on Thee is staid, 

All my help from Thee I bring ; 
Cover my defenseless head 

With the shadow of Thy wing. 

"After singing that a strange peace came down upon 
me, and through the long night I felt no more fear." 

"Now," said the other, "listen to m^ story : I was a 
Union soldier and was in the wood that night with a 
party of scouts. I saw you standing, although I did 
not see your face. My men had their rifles focused 
upon you, waiting the word to fire, but when you sang, 

"Cover my defenseless head 
With the shadow of thy wing, 

I said, 'Boys, lower your rifles ; we will go home.' " 



Ninety-seven 



THOUGHTS FROM OTHER PENS 



-©-©-©- 

[The following article on "The Power of Jesus" was writ- 
ten for Rev. Sheldon's Topeka Capital. It was, however, re- 
ceived "too late for insertion," and the Opinion, with the con- 
sent of the author, our esteemed friend. Rev. Jacob S. Lehman, 
takes pleasure in herewith giving place to the production. — Edi- 
tor Opinion.'] 

Man by nature is selfish and incapable of loving his neigh- 
bor as he loves himself. He may check his disposition and 
modify it so as to improve his moral deportment, but being devoid 
of the divine life in the soul, his actions will not be in harmony 
with the life and the teaching of Jesus. Hence the declaration, 
"Ye must be born again;" which implies a life from above — a 
restoration of the love and image of the Father. 

This is characterized by faith and obedience and creates fel- 
lowship with God and with all the saints. It also confers power 
to overcome the world by a subordination of every principle 
antagonistic to supreme love to God and the loving of one's 
neighbor as himself. Through regeneration the law of love is, 
by the Holy Spirit, written upon the heart and put into the 
mind, and becomes the law of the spirit of life. Christ, in His 
declaration of the Father, taught the law of love and forgive- 
ness, of mercy and submission. Those in profession of the prin- 
ciple of life will harmonize with His teaching; consequently He 
made obedience to His precepts a mark of discipleship and heir- 
ship. In His exposition of the kingdom He demonstrated that 
it was not of this world — that it was spiritual and consisted in 
a state of heart, saying, "It is within you." Those who con- 
stitute the kingdom are characterized by an humble, meek and 
lowly spirit and disposition, patient of injuries and void of all 



Ninety-eight 



THOUGHTS FROM OTHER PENS 



resentment. The effect of regeneration cannot be otherwise than 
in harmony with the life and teaching of Jesus. 

It must be admitted that a baptism of the spirit would 
bring a new life — a divine life to the soul. This life emanating 
from Jesus would be in agreement with His teaching and lead 
in His steps, showing the power of love in all the relations of 
life. Under the law it was allowed to resist evil by civil process, 
or by force of arms, and for certain reasons to annul the mar- 
riage covenant; all of which was an accommodation to the needs 
of man under the infirmity sin had imposed. Christians are 
under the economy of love, hence the precept, "Resist not evil; 
but whosoever shall smite thee on thy right cheek, turn to him 
the other also. And if any man will sue thee at the law, and 
take away thy coat, let him have thy cloak also." 

We are confronted with the problem of harmonizing the 
principles of justice and equity as enforced in human govern- 
ment; and love and mercy as taught by Jesus. The highest and 
most enlightened form of human government is and must be 
based on the law of justice and equity, and carry with it the 
power to punish the transgressors and to wage war in its de- 
fence. If Christians hold ofiice under the government, it be- 
comes their duty to enforce the law, and if necessary to the 
supremacy of it, even to destroy life, which is antagonistic to 
the examples and teachings of Jesus. Therefore Christians 
cannot hold office under a worldly government, for by so doing 
they enter into coalition with the principle of force. If man 
had continued in the image of God, there would not have been 
war and violence on the earth, but peace and good will. Since 
Jesus came to destroy the work of the devil, to regenerate man, 
or re-create him after the image of Him who did create him, 
then surely peace should return to the followers of Jesus. As 
His true followers are guided by His spirit, they are separated 
from the world and are united in faith and doctrine, having 
love to all mankind. 



Ninety-nine 



THOUGHTS FROM OTHER PENS 



The solution of the problem, "How to reconcile or harmon- 
ize the principle of human government with that inculcated by 
Jesus," becomes very simple if we recognize two distinct classes 
of persons and two distinct kingdoms. The one class constitutes 
the regenerated and the other class the unregenerated. 

Worldly government is indispensable to the latter. The re- 
generated, who are the followers of Jesus and who constitute 
the spiritual kingdom and church upon earth, are influenced by 
the principle of love, and practice in harmony with the life and 
teaching of Jesus. They are subject to the government, they 
pray for the rulers and for all mankind, and willingly pay all 
demands of the government in the way of tribute. The idea is 
generally entertained that Jesus sent His disciples into the world 
to be a power for good, by discharging the duties of citizenship 
under the earthly government, and aiding in its reformation 
through legislative power. At least the idea is prevalent that 
it is the duty of the followers of Jesus at the present time. 

If the doctrine of non-resistance is based upon gospel prin- 
ciple and teaching, then it is incompatible with it to assist in 
enacting and executing laws for the forcible suppression of 
vice and immorality. That duty devolves upon the magistracy 
and not upon the peaceable followers of Jesus. They cannot 
fill the office of the magistracy, neither can they serve as 
soldiers. 

Jesus taught that his followers shall not sue at the law, 
even for the necessaries of the body. He addressed himself to 
the individual, and by precept and example labored for the re- 
generation of the individual. "Make. the tree good and his fruit 
will be good." 

Yours truly, 

Jacob S. Lehman. 
Chambersburg, Pa. 



One Hundred 



V/RI TINGS OF JOB ELLETSON 



lEnglanh anh Armpttta 



-®-®-©- 

To the Editor of The Standard: 

Incorrect premises usually lead to erroneous conclusions. 
I think we have a striking case before us in regard tp Eng- 
land's attitude toward Turkey. It has been reiterated again 
and again that England alone was responsible for not rescuing 
Armenia. England was bound by the Berlin treaty to protect 
the Turkish empire against foreign aggression, at the same 
time binding Turkey to make specified reforms in Armenia; 
but England did not bind herself to see these reforms carried 
out, or in any way to intervene between Turkey and her sub- 
jects. Turkey's failure to carry out these reforms has undoubt- 
edly released England from her treaty obligation as protector 
of the Turkish empire but has not released her from treaty 
obligation in regard to the passage of the Dardanelles, which 
she cannot make without concerted action of all the treaty 
powers. It is clear that England is bound to all the signatory 
powers as much as to Turkey and it is next to certain that should 
she attempt to force a passage through the Dardanelles she 
would have to settle the account, not only with Turkey, but also 
with Russia, Germany and France, if not with Austria and 
Italy, and this single handed, with not even moral support. 
Should she attempt it she would only be the means of destroy- 
ing thousands of lives, wasting her resources and defeating the 
very object to be attained, namely, the rescue of Armenia. Such 
a state of things would, no doubt, be very acceptable to many 
but no friend of England, or Armenia, or humanity could wish 
for such an undesirable consummation. 

The United States, for humanity's sake, is under just as 
much moral obligation (and legal for that matter) and has no 
treaty obligations to hinder her; and has she not already had 
sufficient cause to justify interference in Turkish affairs? Our 



One Hundred and Four 




St. Augustine Church, Hedon 

Famous for It's Sweet 

Toned Bells 







The Old Stone Cross in 
Keyingham 



WRITINGS OF JOB ELLETSON 



fellow citizens and brother Christians have been murdered and 
our flag lies trampled in our brothers' blood in Armenia. 

I am well aware that it is much easier and cheaper to keep 
up a fusillade against England than to rescue Armenia. We 
have plenty of Turks and worse than Turks right here in this 
favored land, a set of criminally responsible adventurers, that 
constantly seek to stir up strife between England and America. 
How long shall we sit still and tolerate this unbridled audacity? 
They prate and splutter in print, and even in the very councils 
of the Nation, about English spleen and lack of sympathy 
towards the United States, and unblushingly discolor the truth 
in a most criminal manner, which is too obvious to meet refuta- 
tion. These hideous creatures seek to make political capital by 
traducing England, to their lasting disgrace and shame. They 
have charged that England has, at no time, ever oifered any 
sympathy or aid towards America. I say the charge is false. 

England showed a generous sympathy for the sufferers in 
Chicago, Boston and Portland. The fires in Chicago had not 
half done their work before one firm alone in Liverpool tele- 
graphed the Mayor of Chicago to draw on them for $50,000, 
and further large sums were remitted from all parts of Great 
Britain. Has the United States ever done more for England 
in her time of need? If she has, when, where and how was it 
manifested? I wait the answer. 

Let us have fair play; it will be the best for all concerned. 
The sooner we snub these anglophobian pests, and not until we 
do, shall we reach the lofty pedestal of fame that justice and 
good will to England will secure and what she has undoubted 
right to expect of us. Let us not forget the possibility and 
practicability (with England) of being the prime arbiters of 
rescue and peace to Armenia and to the whole human race. 

J. Elletson. 
Auburn, N. Y., February 5, 1896. 



One Hundred and Five 



WRITINGS OF JOB ELLETSON 

Wa tijp Spsrm of ^uffmng Armpttta 

-®-®-©- 

England has sent a second warship for the suffering Arme- 
nians, and we further know that England and Italy were the 
only powers that did actually send a second ship to Constanti- 
nople; all the other powers refusing any interference for the 
rescue of Armenia, or in Turkish affairs. Russia was the first 
to take this retrograde step, seconded by Germany and France. 
The only reason offered for this course was that the Sultan of 
Turkey was the German Emperor's friend. This conduct has 
now been accounted for by the treaty between Turkey and 
Russia; forming a defensive if not an offensive alliance. 

Now, under all these perplexing circumstances, what could 
England do but withdraw her fleet from Salonica and wait the 
turning of the tide? She certainly could not be expected to meet 
these great powers and defy them all. No friend of England 
would say so. 

England is bound by the treaty of Berlin not to pass her 
warships through the Dardanelles except by permission of Tur- 
key; and should she do so, she would place herself in conflict 
with Russia, Germany and France, and that without even moral 
support. It may further be remarked right here, that Russia 
could have stopped the outrages in Armenia in one month, had 
she so desired. Russia has ruled (in her way) a part of Arme- 
nia for many years, including Kars, and Ardahan, where she 
has, or might easily, concentrate her forces, with a wide open 
gate, that no power could close; and that on the very verge of 
distressed and bleeding Armenia. 

Russia's massacres in Turkistan were hardly more bar- 
barous than what has been enacted in Armenia, and it may well 
be doubted, whether she is not largely responsible for the present 
state of affairs there. Certain it is, she has acted in a most 



One Hundred and Six 



WRITINGS OF JOB ELLETSON 



barbarous manner in permitting such a state of affairs on her 
borders, that she could so safely and easily have suppressed. 
Russia's ancient policy, "a lesser Turkey, a greater Russia," may 
ere long be a fact. Such a change of masters would be like 
jumping from the frying pan into the fire, and cannot elevate or 
benefit the oppressed races contiguous to the Euxine sea. 
Armenia should be established as an independent nation, with all 
the lands from the Dardanelles to the Russian frontier and her 
independence be fully guaranteed by the United States and Great 
Britain. If this should be arrived at (in the cause of humanity), 
where are the powers that can hinder such a desirable consum- 
mation? The United States must take the lead, not only to 
rescue Armenia from the fangs of the Turkish, Kurdish and 
Circassian murderers, but also to set her firmly on her feet as 
a free and independent nation. The Turk has no moral or 
legal right to rule. He has murdered our brother Christians 
and fellow citizens, to an extent that is appalling, destroying 
their property and laying waste their lands. Why do we hesitate? 
Some cry out that we do not want any entanglements. What 
and where are the entanglements? We have no Berlin or other 
treaties (in force) to obey, and none to break, hence there is no 
danger of interference from other powers. Our course is clear. 
If the lives, homes and effects of American citizens had been 
sacrificed in any part of Her Majesty's dominions, (for the only 
fault of being Christians) would our chief men in Washington 
sit still and quibble from day to day about entanglements and 
the nation patiently acquiesce? We should not wait for the 
answer. How can this strange inconsistency be accounted for? 
Does the United States love the Turk more or England less? A 
probable solution may be found in the fact, that we have been 
too much influenced by a few crafty and needy politicians and 
a larger class of dangerous, virulent Anglophobians, that would 
much rather see England degraded and distressed, than to see 
the Turks punished and Armenia rescued. Their creed is self 



One Hundred and Seven 



WRITINGS OF JOB ELLETSON 



interest and jealousy and hate to England, their capital and 
crown of shame, and their loyalty to any righteous cause may 
reasonably be doubted. 

If any man hauls down our flag, hang him as a traitor, and 
if he insults the flag of any friendly nation, brand him as a fool. 
What shall we say of the man that will not defend his flag and 
his brother citizens when assailed by a relentless foe? Our flag 
to-day lies trailing in the blood of our brothers in Armenia. 

Then waste no blows on lesser foes, 

In strife, unworthy freemen, 
God lifts to-day the vail and shows 

The features of the demon. 
Give guns and steel, and prayer and purse, 

And ships and men to stay the curse. 
The crimes are there, in them we share. 

If we remain quiescent. 

Let this great nation prove to the world that they are as 
wise, just and generous as they are powerful and brave. I am 
not in sympathy with the criminally responsible "Jimcracks" 
that look upon war as a pleasant diversion, or a market for their 
paltry wares. I know well how dreadful war is from experience 
and anyone that lightly provokes or advocates it, except as a 
last resort, is an enemy to his country and a traitor to the 
human race. 

But if Turkey will not stop her outrages on defenceless men 
and repair all the damage done to them as far as possible, with 
absolute safeguards for the future, then the only course to be 
pursued is clear; the wild beast must be subdued and fenced in 
where he cannot hurt or destroy any more forever. And to gain 
this laudable end shall we sacrifice any dignity, honor or pres- 
tige, if we say to England, 

Come our brothers we are ready. 

We are harnessed for the fray. 
Come and join us strong and steady. 

We will hound the beast to bay. 



One Hundred and Eight 




Job 

Elletson 

IN THE 

Early 
"70's" 




Birthplace 
OF Job 

Elletson 

(marked 

with x) 

Keyingham, 

Yorkshire, 

England 



WRITINGS OF JOB ELLETSON 



If ever there was a just war to wage, or a righteous cause 
to win, it is now before us. If we let the opportunity pass un- 
heeded, we shall give the Turk a special license to proceed with 
his crimes at his leisure, till no Christian is left to tell of his 
cruel deeds and we must abide the reckoning. 

No loss, or cross, or present pain, 
Or fancied wrong, or sordid gain. 
Should stop us in our duty. 

We insult England and common sense when we harp and 
bleat about her stealing territory. (Do we not here today enjoy 
her "stealings" of a past age?) The same may, with equal jus- 
tice, be charged against Russia, Germany, France and others, on 
an extended scale with this difference, that, while some have 
exterminated native races or made them slaves, England has 
blessed the people over which she rules with peace, prosperity 
and religious liberty, has promoted industry, education and all 
the amenities of civilized life. She has ever been, and is a ter- 
ror to tyrant, and a blessing to the oppressed, wherever her 
beneficent rule holds sway. England's sons are our brothers. 
We are not ashamed or afraid of them ; they will do us no harm, 
but good. Our interests and theirs are so closely identified that 
they are inseparable. A war with England would be a world's 
calamity, a victory for neither country but an irreparable loss 
to both and to the whole human race. 

This advocacy of vigorous interference by the United States 
in Turkish affairs, is based upon the supposition that the Ar- 
menians are irresponsible for the state of things now existing in 
their country. But for humanity's sake, it is undoubtedly the 
duty of our government to investigate the matter promptly and 
act in accordance with ascertained facts. 

J. Elletson. 



One Hundred and Nine 



WRITINGS OF JOB ELLETSON 



^tunhnxt park 



JoB Elletson Makes Appeal in Prose and Verse 
FOR Beautifying Auburn 




A. Promenades. 

B. Bridges. 

C. Trees. 

D. Drives. 

E. Summer house. 
V. Underbrusli. 

G. Shrubbery and flowers. 

H. Pavilion. 



I. Flower beds. 

J. Proposed extension of Standart Av. 

K. Grant avenue. 

L. Miniature lakes. 

P. Lands capable of high cultivation. 

S. A. Standart avenue. 

W. The brook. 



One Hundred and Ten 



WRITINGS OF JOB ELLETSON 



Job drew this plan or map of Standart Park, and with men, 
had done considerable work for the City on it, September 1, 1889, 
when through the influence of the wooden heads the city refused 
to accept this most generous gift and it was turned back to the 
donor. If it had been accepted it would have been one of the 
greatest additions to the city. 



The accompanying map gives a very good showing of the 
proposed Standart Park. If the landscape work can be finished 
as projected, Auburn will have a park second to none in this 
part of the State. The original map is on exhibition in the show 
window of Gross' undertaking rooms at the corner of Genesee 
and William streets. The proposed improvements will place the 
park in good condition, everything considered, at a small cost. 
The natural lay of the ground is admirable. Very little money 
will be needed to turn the present grounds into a lovely park. 
It is roughly estimated that between $6,000 and $7,000 will be 
enough. About $900 of this amount has already been subscribed, 
and beside considerable work has already been begun. Here is as 
beautiful a piece of ground for park purposes as the sun ever 
shone on. It contains twenty-seven acres with about five acres 
of handsome standing timber, donated to the citizens of Auburn 
through the generosity of Charles Standart, whose name will 
go down to posterity as one who had much enterprise, and pre- 
sented Auburn with the only real park she has ever had. 

The matter now rests entirely with our citizens. If they 
will only contribute of their means to help the good cause along 
the enterprise is assured. Now is the time to put down the 
five, the two, the one-dollar subscriptions by the laboring man 
or artisan, while the merchant, banker and men of wealth should 
willingly put down $100 or more to furnish Auburn with this 
needed and long-talked-of necessity. Now that the boulevard 
has been abandoned the subscribers should remember this park 
and cheerfully turn their subscriptions over to the credit of the 
fund and earn the lasting gratitude of the citizens of Auburn. 



One Hundred and Eleven 



WRITINGS OF JOB ELLETSON 



The map of the park was drawn by Job Elletson, to whose care 
the landscape gardening will be entrusted. Mr. Elletson has 
had very much to do in the past in this line, and every piece of 
work given into his care stands today a monument of his ability, 
while his reputation as a landscape gardener is not confined to 
Auburn, but extends to many other cities. His natural taste 
for the beautiful is well known by Auburnians from the many 
handsome floral tributes he has designed and the elegant variety 
of new and beautiful plants he has introduced in this city in his 
capacity as a florist. 

In conversation with Mr. Elletson The Herald correspondent 
learned many facts. The plans were submitted to the executive 
committee on Tuesday. This committee consists of Mayor 
Wheeler, D. M. Dunning, Mr. Elletson and others. The plans 
were adopted after a careful inspection of the grounds and con- 
sulting the map. The desirability of each improvement was 
pointed out by Mr. Elletson. The drives will be made in a neat 
and proper manner, and as far as possible be kept free from 
dust. The same can be said of the handsomely laid out prome- 
nades. Rustic seats and lawn benches will be placed along both 
walks and drives in desirable places, while flower beds and 
shrubs will be planted at different points. Trees will be planted 
on each side of the drives and the entire park made attractive. 

The lakes will be handsome little bodies of water and will 
be formed by simply making a dam across the water just south 
of the summer house. The other lakes can be obtained by slightly 
damming the bed of the brook at different points. The banks, 
which are now very steep and rough, will be graded down to the 
water's edge. In many places trailing and climbing vines will 
cover rough and unsightly banks. In many places the banks of 
the brook will be allowed to remain in their natural state. The 
lakes will contain water lilies and other plants, besides fish, prin- 
cipally the carp, which Mr. Elletson says, will multiply rapidly. 
The water, being a running stream, will be constantly pure and 



One Hundred and Twelve 



WRITINGS OF JOB ELLETSON 



clear. The carriage bridges over the brook, four in number, 
will be constructed in a substantial manner. They will be of 
rustic design and form an attractive feature, as will also the 
foot bridges. 

The summer house will stand on an eminence and command 
a handsome view of different parts of the park. The house will 
be artistic in design and for the present of rustic work. The 
pavilion will command an excellent view to the north, east and 
south, and will probably be round or octagonal in shape and two 
stories high, about thirty feet square and surrounded by porches 
twelve feet in width. The interior will afford a place of shelter 
in case of a storm, and a storage place in the winter for the 
seats which will be scattered about the grounds in the summer. 
The upper part can be used for band concerts or such other pur- 
poses as occasions may require. The view from the second story 
would be fine, commanding the Grant avenue entrance. Other 
buildings of a similar nature will be put up, and when completed 
will furnish splendid accommodations. The land marked P on 
the map can be laid out into lawn tennis, baseball and polo 
grounds. 

The extensiion of Standart avenue on the south side will fur- 
nish a roadway across the entire south end and two entrances, 
which will make it easy of access from the south and west, in 
which direction the city extends. The triangles at the junction 
of the drives will be set out with handsome plants and shrubs, 
and in time will probably contain small fountains. ■ Paths will be 
laid out through the underbrush and in other parts of the park, 
while flower beds will line them and be scattered about. The 
trees now planted are of full growth and make excellent shade. 
The Common Council should take the matter in hand and see 
that a good liberal donation is made to this project. The follow- 
ing was written by Mr. Elletson some two years ago, the time 
Mr. Standart proposed giving the land to the city. The land has 
since been deeded to the city and accepted, and as it cost the city 



One Hundred and Thirteen 



WRITINGS OF JOB ELLETSON 



nothing should be immediately improved. Work has been begun 
on it and it should not stop until snow flies. 
To the Citizens of Auburn: 

Gentlemen — Having been requested by several prominent 
citizens to give my views on the park question in general, and on 
the site known as Standart's woods in particular; and while I 
would be much more at home with the spade and the knife, and 
the scythe and the plough, to dig and to prune, and to reap and 
to sow, I will do the best I can though poor it may be as the se- 
quel may show. It may not be out of place first to inquire the 
object to be attained and the leading points to be looked for in 
a public park. A public park means a people's park, a park for 
the whole people, not a place merely with good roads for fast 
driving, but a place to cheer and rest the weary and tired arti- 
san, to interest the student and delight the artist, and to benefit 
all classes and conditions of men, where all may claim a common 
right, where all may claim to be, in truth, free and equal in the 
pursuit of happiness. The site then for such a place should not 
be left to chance, accident or selfishness, but should be carefully 
and intelligently considered and judiciously chosen, and here 
rests not a light responsibility. It will be self-evident to all that 
a desirable and proper site should be as near to the city as pos- 
sible. 

Second — It should be open, airy and have good natural drain- 
age; in a word it should be the most salubrious situation to be 
found. Hence, the necessity of choosing the most elevated ground 
practicable, where fresh, healthy breezes blow, and where ex- 
tended views may be obtained. Such a site with all the above 
advantages and more is the tract known as Standart's woods, 
where twenty-three acres has been offered to the city by the 
munificence of Charles Standart. It is a fine piece of ground 
with a varied surface, part of which is covered with fine, large 
and valuable trees and shrubs, very suitable for a park, and 
capable with good management of being made very picturesque 



One Htcndred and Fourteen 



WRITINGS OF JOB ELLETSON 



at small expense. A large area could easily, at small expense, 
be converted into a beautiful lake, as no excavating hardly would 
be necessary, but simply to raise a dam a few feet; as there is 
fine native limestone on the very spot for this purpose, and the 
construction of good and durable roads, etc. This depression 
could easily be flooded, to cover one or two acres where a supply 
of clear water flows directly through it. I would suggest that, 
if the city accepts this site from Mr. Standart, measures be taken 
at once to secure a small piece of land to the south, and several 
acres directly west. The latter piece rises gently to considerable 
elevation. 

Third — A beautiful and extensive view can be obtained from 
this point for miles around to the north, east and west, and part 
of the city. Refreshing breezes may be had on this elevated 
ground in the hottest day in summer, a point that ought not to 
be lost sight of for a moment. I know the ground perfectly, and 
to the best of my knowledge there is no other site so near the 
city that offers equal advantages or is more suitable for a park 
than the one in question. If I have succeeded in giving any 
points to assist those that shall decide this matter I shall feel 
content, as I desire nothing more than the poor people of Auburn 
should have a park easily accessible and well kept. Beyond this 
I have no personal interest in the matter that could weigh for a 
moment against a better site if such can be found. 

There's a cry in the school, there's a noise in the street. 

Pray! pray! What has happened? cry all that you meet, 

It's about the new park for the bond and the free. 

But where will they have it; oh where shall it be? 

A few rods from Auburn, and a few miles from Sennett, 

And now I will tell you what ought to be in it. 

And what it should be as well as I can. 

To make it delightful for woman and man. 

It should be a place to ride and to walk in. 

To run, jump and tumble, to laugh and to talk in, 

To roll, skip and gambol on the soft, soddy ground, 



One Hundred and Fifteen 



WRITINGS OF JOB ELLETSON 



To spin, whirl and tumble, like a merry-go-round. 

It should be a place bright, gay and charming, 

With nothing to hurt, and nothing alarming, 

With sweet shady nooks for love and for leisure, 

A place dear and dearer than heaps of gold treasure. 

A place to smile, to sing and to play in, 

A place to rejoice, to praise and to pray in, 

A place to be cheerful and charming, and glad in, 

A place to be good but not to be bad in. 

A place to be noble, grand and sublime 

A place ever dear and good to spend time, 

The place of all others the grandest and best. 

None others are like it, from east to the west. 

A place for sweet flowers, rare shrubs and grand trees, 

A place for rich leafage to dance in the breeze, 

A place for the sparrow, the thrush and the lark, 

"All hail" the day coming; hail Auburn's new park. 

A park should have lakes as clear as a crystal, 

A park should have birds to sing and to whistle, 

A park should have rills and clear dripping fountains. 

With dells, slopes and hills, valleys and mountains. 

There should also be thickets of thorn and sweet briar. 

With vines of all sorts, climbing high, and still higher. 

And bays of pond lilies, of blue, red and white, 

And nelumbiums grand, to gladden the sight. 

A park should have rocks, rough and ragged in places. 

Of nature's grand work there should always be traces. 

There should also be wood-ducks and teal, the sweet beauties, 

With a good man to tend them, that will tend to his duties. 

A park should be kept as neat as a dandy. 

With walks neat and smooth, not too rough nor too sandy. 

With grass fine and green, kept close and clean shaven. 

With roses all blushing, like the cheeks of fair maiden. 

A park should have room for all festive occasions, 

It should also have place for great July's orations, 

It should also have place for fish, fowl and fair flowers. 

Refreshed by the dews, and the soft summer showers. 

Rejoice, then! oh mother, and maiden, and child. 

The lake that's scooped out, and the hill that up piled. 

Can be had for the asking, with rock, tree and bush, 

With brook, glade and valley, and the sweet singing thrush. 



One Hundred and Sixteen 




Saint Nicholas Church, Keyingham, 
Yorkshire, England 



WRITINGS OF JOB ELLETSON 



Rejoice, then ! oh Auburn, exult and be glad. 

The times are now changing, the good for the bad, 

A park we will have, with no longer waiting, 

We must have it, and no more debating. 

Let Auburn rejoice and Cayuga be glad 

The good time has arrived, then adieu to the bad, 

Then up and be doing, from sunrise to dark. 

To secure forever our long wished for park. 

We have it, we have it, with gates open wide. 

After long years of waiting, now Auburn's just pride. 

Now with thanks to the donor, long may he live 

And yearly grow richer with more parks to give. 

I have said now my say, for weal or for woe 

It is night, I am tired, so I bid you adieu. 

With my hearty good wishes,, from light until dark, 

Three cheers for the donor! hurrah for the park! 

Yours respectfully, 

J. Elletson. 

The only change in the above is that seven acres of land have 
been added on the south and the one lake changed into smaller 
ones. The only objection to the park that has been offered is that 
it is too far from the city. Where can the objectors find any 
property desirable for that purpose any nearer? Burt's woods 
may be nearer but do not compare with it in beauty or practica- 
bility, and besides cannot be reached by any other method than 
carriages, while the street railroad can be extended up Grant 
avenue to the very entrance of the Standart grounds, or up 
Lewis street and Standart avenue and out through Grant ave- 
nue to Franklin street. This extension would surely be built, 
for it would soon be the best paying part of the road in the 
city. As the road is already built up Franklin street, the ex- 
pense would be very little for the additional track required. 

Everyone should feel an interest in this improvement, and 
if he cannot afford to give money let him give time and labor, 
which will be just as acceptable. The committee having the 
matter in charge should place subscription papers in every avail- 
able place for small subscriptions. Solicitors should visit every 
person able to donate generously. All should prove to Mr. 
Standart that his generosity is appreciated. Shall a paltry 
$7,000 keep the park from the people? 



One Hundred and Seventeen 



THOUGHTS FROM OTHER PENS 



An SngltHli Pragfr 

BY J. FAKRBR 

EATHER give us now Thy blessing, 
Take us, Lord, beneath Thy care, 
May we all enjoy Thy presence 

And Thy tender mercies share ; 
Keep us through this night from danger, 

Keep us in Thy heavenly love. 
Through our life vdlt "Thou" be near us, 
Then receive us all above. 




Oyie Hundred and Eighteen 



s 



dfliffli 



